Word: taprooms
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...banquet at which no one made a speech. For five days they haggled over code chiselers, discussed new ideas on designs, talked about cashing in on their backlog. Gravestone sellers all, members of the Memorial Craftsmen of America, they wound up their annual convention in the hotel taproom and went home with schemes for carving out more business from the living and the dead...
Three times in the last 18 months Fritzi Scheff, creator of the title role in Mile Modiste (1905-08), persuaded judges to postpone foreclosure on her thrice-mortgaged cottage & four acres near Waterbury, Conn. She sang for a while in a Broadway taproom in an unsuccessful effort to raise the $1,500 she needed. Last week, day before final foreclosure. Home Owners Loan Corporation took over her mortgage, gave back to Fritzi Scheff her only home...
Since the futile reorganization last year Architect Benjamin Marshall has really run the Drake. An assiduously bohemian gentleman in a flowing black tie, he lives in a famed pink house on the shores of Lake Michigan in Wilmette. His particular joys are a ship-cabin taproom and a handsome table that sinks through the floor. Ben Marshall lightened the tone of the Drake, installed an oyster bar, started serving 50? buffet lunches and $1 buffet Thursday night dinners which were jammed all last winter. It was also Ben Marshall & friends who, under a lease from Metropolitan Life, reopened the Blackstone...
...shared by its noble directors, that the sense of fun never sets on the British Empire. Too conservative to desert the archaic method of advertising by quips and slogans, Bovril cajolements for the past 25 years have been almost an almanac of British humor, a glossary to theatrical and taproom slang. Bovril's august board has catered not only to the British appetite for beef, but also to the British appetite for advertising, which may be why an attempt to Bovrilize the U. S. several years ago failed. Almost as delectable as Bovril are such Bovril puns as, "When...
...grass, and there afront of us, setten on our green downs, neighbors, be a parcel of blessed angels. Hugy gurt baastards they be, twenny feet or more from crown to anklebone, and some of 'em as black as coal. . . ."-thus honest Yokel Mykelborne holding forth in the taproom to his fellow-worthies, who listened chopfallen, goggle-eyed. Such fine and pungent talk was to be had almost any evening in the inn at Marden Fee, and it is the chorus of talk, not the incidental pastoral melodrama you will remember from Author Bullett's book. The story opens...